The Brat Pack
by ladyschrei
Summary: Saturday detention was only the beginning.
1. Dear Mr Vernon

Monday morning, March 26, 1984. Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois.

The halls, for the most part, are empty. Locks dangle from red lockers, untouched. Around back, cars continue to pull into the staff parking lot. Mrs. Burner, Senior English teacher, has her door cracked open slightly; the faint tapping of her keyboard drifts into the silent hall, along with music from her record player.

The attitude in the library is completely different. A startling kind of silence. Richard Vernon, principal, stands with his hands on his hips. Mrs. TeAll, librarian, quickly slams the door to her small office. Behind the sign-out desk lay many items, some missing, with destroyed books scattered on the floor.

"Damn kids," Vernon huffs.

In the hall, Carl the janitor wheels around a trash bin and mop, whistling quietly. He pauses as he notices an unlocked and open locker. He quickly peers around the empty hall before rifling through it. Nothing of much interest. A math test with a failing grade. Pencils strewn on the bottom. He grins in triumph as he finds an unopened pack of gum. Taking a piece, he stuffs the rest in his pocket, slamming the locker shut.

The bang echoes through the dead halls.


	2. If You Gotta Go

"Shut the FUCK UP!"

A crash. John Bender sits up in bed, sweating. Sun is streaming through the dirty window, cold spring air blowing in and chilling the tiny room. The window doesn't close all the way, and hasn't since Mr. Bender bought the house years ago.

"You don't talk to me like that!" A woman shouting from the kitchen. Another crash.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY?!" a man screams.

Bender shivers a bit, licking his dry lips. It's quiet at first, and then comes the soft sobs from his mother. She's whispering to her husband now, but Bender can't hear it. And to be quite frank, he doesn't want to. He doesn't fucking care.

He reaches for the floor and picks up the nice watch he hopes the man from the jewelry store doesn't miss, its surrounding diamonds gleaming. 6:56 AM. He's late. Again. Too fucking bad.

He drops the watch to the floor, grabbing the ratty blankets and pulling them up over his head, falling back asleep.


	3. Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie

5:14 AM. Brian Johnson's alarm blares. He sits up and throws off the covers, stumbling around on the floor. He shuts off the clock and picks out carefully folded clothes, laying them on his bed.

At 5:40 AM Brian steps from the shower, using his hand to wipe away the steam from his mirror. He brushes his teeth, licking his lips after and nodding his head.

Brian goes back into his room, towel wrapped around his waist. He goes to the window, looking down at the street. One car pulls from its driveway. He shuts the curtain, his towel falling down after he does so.

First is his underwear, his name stitched on the label inside. Then his socks, white. His khakis, almost identical to _all the other ones_ in his closet. These ones are faded because of how much he wears them. His lucky pair. Brian slips his undershirt and sweater over his head, putting on his black watch and going into the bathroom, staring at himself as he straightens his shirt.

"Smart men dress sharp," he reminds himself, like he does everyday.

Back in his room, Brian sits on his bed and carefully pulls on his loafers.

At 6 AM he is downstairs. His father is at the table reading the newspaper, his sister, Jenny, in the front room watching TV, and his mom in the kitchen cooking breakfast. A plate of bacon and some pancakes are slid underneath him at the table. His mother kisses his cheek before he begins to eat, going to round up his sister.

At 6:12 AM Mr. Johnson leaves, kissing Mrs. Johnson before he goes and playfully ruffles Jenny's hair. Brian nods to his father as he leaves.

At 6:25 AM Mrs. Johnson locks the front door and at 6:27 AM she climbs into the front seat of the red car, Brian in the passenger's side and Jenny squished between them, like she always is.

At 6:48 AM Mrs. Johnson pulls up out front of Shermer High. Kids linger on the steps and in the parking lot. Brian hears music and loud chatter. He kisses Jenny's cheek, and she wipes it off as he steps from the car.

"Have a good day!" Mrs. Johnson calls as she drives off.

Behind him, Brian can hear kids snicker.


	4. Sporto

Andrew Clark's white sneakers pound into the pavement. Sweat rings the neckline of his green undershirt. He takes sharp, deep breaths as he continues to run. Off Green onto Delaney. Off Delaney onto Maple. Off Maple onto Newfield.

"You can do it," he says to himself between breaths. "Breathe."

But he can feel himself slowing down. He folds his hands on top of his head as he hops onto the sidewalk from the road. He's only ran half the amount he normally does. Dammit.

His legs are feeling sore. This happens when he pushes himself too hard. And this morning he's definitely pushed it.

Halfway down the block he stops, putting his hands on his knees and shutting his eyes. If his old man was here running with him, he'd be hounding Andy for sure. Thank God Andy left a couple minutes earlier than usual while his dad was in the shower.

Andy stands up fast, looking around. "What the hell?" he mutters to himself.

He feels it. Someone's watching him. Andy knows that feeling from wrestling, when scouts are keeping an eye on him.

Then he sees it. Across the street. Two story white house. Fence surrounding the lawn. Small trees and bushes growing together, forming a barrier between the front and back lawns.

That isn't exactly what's caught his eye though. It's actually the figure in the window upstairs.

Andy gives a small grin, looking around the street before giving a small motion, a _come outside_ wave.

The figure bites its lip, shaking its head. Andy gives a shrug and a small wave, continuing to jog down the sidewalk.

He never saw Allison wave back.


	5. Princess

Mr. and Mrs. Standish are both in the kitchen talking in hushed voices when Claire Standish comes in, a smile across her face.

"Good morning, Daddy!" she says sweetly, kissing his cheek. "Morning, Mom!" Claire kisses her cheek.

Mrs. Standish puts her hand where the kiss lingers, smiling. Her father crosses his arms.

"Claire," he begins, "your mother and I want to talk to you-"

"And I want to talk to you, too!" Claire says with another smile.

Her father sighs. "Go ahead."

Claire plays with her fingers as she talks. "I know you said I'm grounded and everything, but I was wondering if I could pretty please have my car back?" She bats her eyelashes.

Her mother sips her coffee, staring at her father. He looks down at her.

"Eleanor, what do you think?"

"I think you should go get her car keys."

Claire grins. "Really? Oh, thank you!" She jumps a little, clapping her hands. "Thank you!"

Her father has a small frown on as he leaves the room.

"So," her mother leans across the island, "tell me about him."

Claire stares. Huh? "About who?"

"That boy. Was he a good kisser?"

Boy? OH. "Mom-"

"Claire!" her mother practically begs. "You can tell me. We never talk anymore! And I don't think you want to have this conversation with your father," her mother says with a wink. "What's his name? What's he like? Are you dating?"

Claire takes a deep breath. "His name is John, he's a criminal, and no, we are not, and will never be, dating."

Claire's mother stares at her, then busts out laughing as her father comes back into the room. She beats her fist against the counter.

"Eleanor," her father says worriedly.

"Oh! Oh Claire!" her mother gasps, "you really are so funny when you choose to be." She pats her hand.

Her father holds her keys out. Claire snatches them quickly, kissing his cheek.

"I have to go, or else I'll be late. Bye!"

Claire quickly slams the door behind her, hurrying across the porch. Her mother sticks her head out of the door.

"Did you want to put some clothes on first?" she calls after Claire.

Claire stops and looks down at herself, blushing furiously as she realizes she's still in her pajamas. She runs back inside, her mother laughing hysterically after her.

* * *

Claire taps her steering wheel as she stops behind other cars, her head buzzing. _Of course. Of course._ Her father _would_ tell her mother about seeing her kiss Bender. He had already questioned her on the way home Saturday afternoon, couldn't he just forget it?

Then again, easier said than done. Claire can't stop remembering either. Someone beeps at her. She snaps back from her daze and pulls ahead quickly, nearly ramming the car in front of her. She slams on the brakes.

"Shit!" she cries, panting. A bunch of kids on the school steps turn to stare at her, laughing and pointing and whispering.

Two girls step in front of her car, crossing over onto the sidewalk from the parking lot.

"Just because your daddy has money doesn't mean you should be able to drive," one of them snorts at her.

"And just because your daddy is poor doesn't mean you have to dress in such bad taste!" Claire calls back, both girls stopping to glare at her. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, Ugly Sweater Girl," Claire snaps at the one that had spoken out of tone to her. Claire pulls away.

Behind her, she hears boys yell "Ugly Sweater Girl!" as the two brunettes hurry away.

Claire finds a parking spot and switches off her car, pulling down a mirror and applying some more lipstick. More cars pull in around her. She notices a blue one in the opposite row, the driver stepping out. It's Andy.

Claire shrinks down in her seat, not fully knowing why, as he passes. She slaps her steering wheel. He'll _know_ this is her car.

"What the hell am I doing?" she asks herself, throwing things into her purse and pulling the keys from the ignition, pushing shut the door behind her.

The heels of her new pink shoes click against the pavement as she pushes black sunglasses up her nose, smiling to herself. Skipping school for shopping hadn't been _all_ bad.

She moves by a group of kids pushing each other.

"Come on!" One boy checks his watch. Claire notices him and stops. It's Curtis Malfis. He's leaning against the railing.

"What's up?" Johnny Ore asks from his position on the stairs, looking up at Curtis.

"Bender's late again. That dumbass."

"Bender?" Claire says without realizing.

"What?" Curtis asks, looking over at her.

Johnny leans around Curtis. "You got a problem, Cherry?" he asks her. Some kids around them snort.

"No," she says, hiking her brown purse up on her shoulder and hurrying on. "No."


	6. An Island With Herself

They sit in silence. Mrs. Reynolds looks a mess. Her hair, unbrushed, sits in a bun on her head. Black rings circle her eyes. She has lipstick on her teeth. She hasn't changed her clothes in two days. A cigarette hangs between her lips.

Next to her, Allison Reynolds stares ahead at the road, watching the other cars pass by and wishing she was with one of those families instead. She swallows a lump in her throat.

"I met a boy," she says quietly, turning to glance at her mom. Mrs. Reynolds pays no mind.

Three more minutes of silence. "Did you?" her mother croaks.

Allison nods, even though her mother doesn't see. Even though her mother doesn't care, tapping ash from the cigarette out the crack in the window.

"He's athletic. On the wrestling team. And he understands me. And he seems to care. He's got a nice smile, and a nice laugh. And perfect blond hair, and beautiful eyes that smile when he does."

Her mother still says nothing. The wind blows, sending bits of ash onto Allison's long skirt. Her mother pulls in front of the sidewalk, putting the car into park and inhaling deeply.

Allison brushes the ash to the floor as she swings the door open, throwing her bag over her shoulder and slamming the door. She looks into the car. Her mother pulls away.

Allison starts down the sidewalk, reaching her hand into her black bag and feeling the smooth fabric of the patch she pulled from Andy's jacket on Saturday. She talks to herself as she walks.

"I'm gonna marry him one day," she whispers, "and we'll never, ever, end up like you and Dad."


	7. Brownie Hound

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

"Dammit!" Vernon yells from his computer, quickly closing out his game – uh, important educational folders that require much use of the spacebar – and goes out into the main office.

"Where the _hell_ are all the secretaries?" Vernon shouts to the empty office, looking around.

_Buzz._

He stands on his toes to peer through the window, his face going dark as he spots the piece of trash standing at the door. He has half a mind not to let the fucker in.

_BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ._

Vernon presses the brown button with a huff and hears the door click, John Bender swinging it open and waltzing up to the front desk.

"Dick!" Bender calls, opening his arms wide. "Where's the lovely Mrs. Orvitz today? She always signs my late passes," he says with a pout.

"Cut the shit, Bender." Vernon looks at the clock, a smile on his lips. "Why, it's already eight-thirty. A bit late today, are we not?"

Bender shrugs one shoulder, stretching out and yawning. Vernon slaps a yellow pass on the desk, scribbling in Bender's name and time in black ink.

"Don't forget," he tells Bender, holding the pass out between two fingers, "detention Saturday."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Dick," Bender says, snatching up the pass and heading into the hall.

Vernon stares after him, muttering "prick" under his breath as he walks around the office, finally coming to the intercom. He presses it, turning it on and leaning towards it.

"Andrew Clark and Brian Johnson, please report to Mr. Vernon's office immediately."

He switches the intercom off, going back into his office and slamming the door.


	8. Monkey Business

_"Andrew Clark and Brian Johnson, please report to Mr. Vernon's office immediately."_

The intercom clicks off. Brian's entire Trigonometry class goes silent, some kids peering at him from the corners of their eyes. Brian sinks down in his seat as he shoves his things into his bag, his calculator smashing to the floor.

"Shit," he mumbles as he bends to retrieve it.

"Brian," Mr. Doms, the instructor, says sternly, "please do hurry. You're distracting the class. Go on now."

"Yes, sir." Brian stands, heading for the door.

"And you _will_ return after school to collect any missed information and homework."

It wasn't a question, but Brian responds "yes, sir," anyway.

* * *

Brian's mind races as he hurries down the hall, short of breath. What was going on? He grins. Maybe he's getting an award. He licks his lips, nodding his head. Finally, this hellhole will recognize true talent!

But then he stops. Shit! What if he's in trouble again? His palms start to sweat. In the classroom next to him, he can hear tenth graders shouting out answers in Spanish. He groans, continuing on.

He reminds himself to walk. To breathe. To remember to turn left at the corner.

He accomplishes two of those three things.

The last one ... not so much.


	9. It's Wrong To Destroy Literature

_Andrew Clark and Brian Johnson, please report to Mr. Vernon's office immediately."_

The senior English class is dark. The projector is drawn down, Mrs. Burner giving in-depth notes on William Shakespeare.

Andy isn't paying attention, though. He hasn't been all period.

Instead, he's been staring ahead, at the desk three rows in front of his, one to the right.

His chin is resting in his palm as he watches her. He likes the way her short, dark hair moves when she leans her head down to write more notes. The way it plays on her shoulders.

"-Andy. Andrew? Mr. Clark!"

Andy jolts forward, looking ahead. Mrs. Burner is frowning at him.

"Go on, dear."

"Huh?"

"To the office. Did you not just hear that?"

Andy shakes his head, trying to clear away his daze. "Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry."

He bumps his knee into his desk as he picks up his notebook and binder, shoving them under his arm and making his way towards the door.

In the brightness of the hall he blinks, turning and quickly glancing in the classroom one last time.

Ally smiles at him as he shuts the door.

* * *

Andy takes his time walking through the halls, stopping to stretch every now and then. He isn't in some hurry to visit Vernon, especially not after their time spent together on Saturday.

He hums to himself as he goes, fingering some of the locks clamped on the locker doors.

He's going straight when someone rams into him suddenly from the side, both of them dropping to the floor.

"Hey!" Andy growls, watching as his things splay across the floor.

"Oh. Oh God. I'm so sorry. I-" Brian looks over. "Oh. Oh, hey Andy."

"Hey yourself." Andy stands up, brushing dirt from his jeans.

Brian runs a hand through his hair, pulling his bag to his chest. Andy sticks out a hand. Brian hesitates, then takes it, being hauled quickly to his feet. He nervously watches Andy collect his things from the floor. Andy stops and stares at Brian for a second before moving along in the hall.

Brian jogs up behind him. "So, uh, what … what d'you think this is all about? Are we in trouble again or something?"

Andy looks back at Brian and shrugs. "I don't know." He huffs out a breath. "I sure hope not."

"Yeah, same. Same."

Brian almost walks into Andy again as they stop outside Vernon's door. Andy gives him a strange look before hitting the wood with his fist a couple times.

The door swings in, Vernon standing on the other side. He snarls a bit, hands on his hips. Brian steps nervously from foot to foot. Andy swallows the lump in his throat, staring up at Vernon. All three are silent for some time.

Vernon finally points across the hall to the library. Andy and Brian both follow his finger. "In there. Go."

Brian quickly walks through the doors. Andy turns back to look at Vernon for a minute.

"Go on, go!" Vernon says, storming along behind him.

In the library, Vernon puts his hands back on his hips. "Set your things down."

Both find a table and do as they're told. Vernon points to the librarian's desk. "Behind there is a mess." He points off to the right. "Books. Over there. _Destroyed_."

He points to another table. Brian and Andy follow his finger again. A black trash bag is laying across the top of the wooden desk. "Clean it all up. It better be _exactly_ the way you found it on Saturday. Ruined books and such are put in the bag. Any mistakes, and you'll both find yourselves in detention until you graduate. Understand?"

And with that, Vernon storms off.

In her office, Mrs. TeAll stands with her arms crossed over her chest.


	10. Don't You Want Any Respect?

At 8:37, Mr. Jupiter is going over instructions for tomorrow's lab when the door bangs open. Claire looks up, watching as Bender walks in.

"Ah, Bender," Mr. Jupiter says, glancing up from the chalkboard. "How nice of you to join us. Please, take a seat and start copying notes from your lab partner."

Bender smirks at Claire as he walks by her table, heading for the back. Beside her, Ella, Claire's best friend, gasps.

"Such _filth_," Ella mutters, turning to watch Bender sit next to Curtis. Behind him, Stacey, one of Bender's girls, leans forward over her table and throws her arms around him, massaging his shoulders. Ella turns back.

"How _was_ detention with him, anyway?" she whispers to Claire, picking her pen back up and scribbling in more notes.

Claire shrugs. "It was so…_practical_ of him, if you know what I mean."

Ella nods vigorously, as if she completely understands. Which, no, she doesn't.

"Now then," Mr. Jupiter calls from the front, finishing writing an equation on the board. "Who would like to come up and give this a shot? Anybody?"

"I would!" a faked, girlish voice calls from the back. Kids start to snicker.

Mr. Jupiter turns around, searching for the voice. "Who was that? Claire?"

"What?" Claire nearly jumps in her seat. "No, sir, that wasn't me."

"Oh, come on! Don't be shy! I know you can do it!" He motions for her to come up to the board. More snickering.

"Okay, I guess."

Claire stands up, smoothing down her skirt. Cat calls start up in the room.

"Now, now, fellas. Let's have some respect," Mr. Jupiter warns.

Claire takes the chalk from him and stares at the writing in front of her. What the hell does any of this mean? The numbers and letters start to swirl together in front of her.

"Well?" Mr. Jupiter asks. "Go on, take a crack at it. What do you think?"

"I, uh," Claire starts, trying to look at the writing above for something helpful. What was wrong with her? Mr. Jupiter tilts his head at her.

"Anything?"

Claire can feel herself sweating as she stares where the answer should go. "Uh."

"Mr. Jupiter!"

Everyone turns to look. A black manicured hand shoots into the air. Stacey.

"I'll try it. I think I have the answer."

Mr. Jupiter nods, motioning for Stacey to come forward. When she gets to the front, Claire reluctantly hands her the chalk, head hanging low as she heads back to her seat. Ella pats her back reassuringly as Stacey starts to write on the board.

Stacey smiles as she drops the chalk back into its holder. Mr. Jupiter rubs his chin and nods at her results.

"Wonderful, Stacey! Well done!"

Some kids off to the left start clapping. Stacey smiles again and heads back to her seat, pausing at Claire's table. She leans down.

"Money won't get you out of this class, sweetheart," she whispers.

"Yeah, but it sure will get you out of those clothes, hooker."

Stacey gasps as she jumps up, offended.

"Claire!" Mr. Jupiter yells. "That's enough out of you. Apologize to Stacey, or go to the principal's office."

Claire smiles sweetly at Stacey.

"Sorry, Stace. I was just kidding around. Like you!"

"It's_ Stacey_ to you. And no, you were not," Stacey huffs, her tall black boots click-clacking the floor as she storms off back to her seat.

More snickering.


	11. Multi-Talented

Allison skips lunch, stuffing a few chips in her mouth as she wanders the empty halls. She can hear shouting coming from the classrooms around her. She stops at one. It's silent inside. She puts a few more chips in her mouth and drops the remaining into her bag, brushing her hands together before knocking on the door.

Mrs. Geller opens the door and smiles down at Allison. "Hello, dear," she says, putting her glasses on and examining Allison. "Why, is it final period already? My old age, I'm losing track of time!"

"Uh, no, actually, it's lunch right now."

"Oh." Mrs. Geller frowns. "Then what can I help you with?"

"I was wondering if I could work on my clay piece?"

Mrs. Geller smiles, holding the door wide open for Allison. "Well, I don't see why not. As long as you're out of here on time when the bell rings."

Allison nods, coming inside and closing her eyes. She breathes in the smell of paint. She hears the door click behind her. Mrs. Geller smiles as she goes back to her desk, sitting down and turning up the radio. Soft music fills the room.

Allison pulls her bag over her head and sets it down on a table, going over and picking up her clay piece and a sculpting knife.

"Make sure to be careful with that, dear," Mrs. Geller says sternly, looking over at Allison.

Allison nods. "I will."

Mrs. Geller smiles again, replacing her glasses as she picks up a thick book and flips through it.

Allison sets her clay down and studies it, picking up the knife and carving patterns all over. She smiles as she works, humming along to the music.

She's in a trance when the bell rings, the halls filling with loud voices. As kids start coming into the room, Allison puts her piece back and replaces the knife in its proper place. She grins as she leaves, heading off for Chemistry. Her piece reflects in her brain as she walks, turning over every detail in her mind.

She knows he's going to love it.


	12. I've Seen You Before, You Know

Bender hates this class. Out of all the fucking things he has to take this year, he undoubtedly hates this class. He stares down a table of girls in the back, laughing and chatting away.

"Alright, everyone!" Mrs. Geller calls, clapping her hands. She picks up the glasses hanging around her neck, setting them on her nose. "I'm going to take attendance so please, quietly and in an orderly fashion, get your clay pieces and put them on your desk, and wait until I'm finished."

She smiles at the class. Bender mimics her, crossing his arms and slouching down in his seat. Fuck that. At his table, Johnny Ore and Craig Delflo laugh, high fiving.

When the crowd around the clay finally lessens, Bender gets up and grabs his shit, staring down at the tiny pieces in his hand.

With Mrs. Geller's suggestion, he had made two friendship necklaces for Kelly Pinca, the fat girl in the back.

The assignment was that everyone would get a slip of paper with someone's name, and they had to make a clay piece for that person.

So of course, he got the fat girl. Originally, Bender was going to make Kelly a piece of lettuce, but Mrs. Geller looked like she was going to shoot him when he told her his idea.

Instead, she suggested he make the charms, and she would get chains for him to put them on.

The charms are two slices of pizza. She's fat. He couldn't help himself with shit like this.

Mrs. Geller waits until everyone is sitting and quiet. She clasps her hands together. "Okay, everyone. It's time to trade gifts. Go ahead!"

The class scrambles as they give pieces away. Bender walks over to Kelly's table and sets the charms down quickly. When he gets back to his table, he stops and stares at what's in front of his seat.

He sits down and picks the round piece up, turning it in his hands. It's gray, with many intricate designs on the inside. He studies it, a smile creeping over his lips.

"No shit," he says, turning it around again. "Johnny, Craig, who left this?"

Craig laughs as he motions with his head. Bender turns in his seat, looking at a table in the corner. There, a girl draws quickly in her notebook. What the fuck? Allison? How long had she been in this class?

Bender turns around, staring down at the ashtray in his hands.

"I think she has a crush on you," Johnny says with a grin, Craig cackling beside him.

"Poor girl," Craig says as he wipes a tear from his eye. "Probably special ed or somethin'."

Bender remembers back to detention. When he had first seen Allison. _This_ is where he knew her from.

He swears under his breath.


	13. Who Do I Think I Am?

Late Tuesday morning, March 27, 1984. Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois.

The lunchroom is divided. It has been since freshman year. The popular kids sit on the left, near the door and lunch lines; it makes it easier for them to get first dibs on the best food. The nerds sit in the middle; this makes it easier for the popular kids to find someone to do their homework. The tables on the right are where the "normal" kids sit; no one bothers them there. The burnouts sit in the far back.

Brian sighs as he stares down at his tray. This morning, his sister Jenny had decided she didn't want to brush her teeth, hoping to stay home from school to avoid a science test. As a result, Brian's mother hadn't packed his lunch, and now he's stuck eating corn dogs and a scoop of watery looking corn. Brian frowns as he thinks about Jenny. She's never acted like that before. Something must be going on...

"...did you hear me, kid? I said next!"

"Hey!"

Brian snaps from his thoughts, looking around. Behind him, an angry line of kids stand with their trays, glaring at him.

"Next, please!"

Brian looks forward, realizing it's his turn to pay. "Oh," he says, blushing as he hurries to the cash register. "Oh, sorry."

He digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, grabbing a few bills and shoving them into the cashier's hands. She eyes him oddly as he hurries away, not bothering to stay and get his change.

Brian looks around at the tables, slumping his shoulders. His friends are MIA, probably in the library playing games on the computers. This happens at least once a week.

As he spots an empty table and starts for it, he hears loud laughter coming from the back. Turning, he spots Bender and his friends, throwing around paper airplanes at their table. Brian smiles, a thought creeping into his brain.

He starts for the back, pushing through a group of Drama Club kids. A few of them snap – literally_ snap_ their fingers – at him as he goes.

"Hiya, fellas," Brian says cheerfully as he sets his tray down at Bender's table, pulling out one of the chairs and lowering himself down. He can feel eyes from all over the cafeteria staring at him.

Bender looks like he's about to have a heart attack from where he's sitting. Curtis lowers his milk carton, milk dripping from the straw. Johnny's head is in constant motion, glancing at everyone sitting at the table. Craig flings peas at Brian's head.

"Uh, what the fuck, dweeb. Are you lost?" Bender asks in horror.

Curtis drums his fingers on the table as Brian shrugs, shoving a spoonful of corn into his mouth. He flinches as another pea hits directly on his eyebrow.

"Just wanted someone to sit with, that's all."

Craig laughs, loading his spoon again. "Where's the Nerd Herd at, huh, buddy?"

He launches his spoon forward. Brian moves his head to the left, watching as peas soar by. One hits Curtis on the ear and he snarls. Craig drops his spoon and pushes his tray forward a little.

"The Nerd Herd? Hey, I kinda like that, yeah." Brian nods his head, looking around.

Bender cracks a smile. Curtis, however, is clearly not amused. He lowers his head, whispering so only Brian can hear.

"I'm gonna give you 'til the count of ten to get the hell away from this table, else I'm gonna beat the living shit outta you."

"Oh, come on, Curtis, buddy!" Brian pats Curtis's shoulder.

Bender, next to Curtis, widens his eyes and shakes his head, mouthing_ no, no, no_ quickly.

"That's it!" Curtis roars, standing up. A few kids look over at their table. "Boys, I need to take a bathroom break."

Johnny grins widely, standing too. Craig joins them. Bender swallows, standing up slowly.

"Okay, well, see you then." Brian is about to bite his corn dog when he feels a strong hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into his sweater.

"You," Curtis says with narrow eyes and a venomous smile, "are coming with us."

* * *

The hallways are empty. Craig and Johnny stand guard at the door as Curtis shoves Brian inside. He tumbles forward and grips a sink for support.

"Take care of him," Curtis growls to someone in the hall.

Next thing Brian knows, he's face-to-face with a furious Bender. Brian starts to back up toward the wall on the far side, Bender taking slow steps toward him, turning on every sink as he goes and checking underneath the stalls. They're alone. The room is filled with the sound of rushing water. Brian squeezes his legs together. He hadn't had to pee five seconds ago. He holds a hand out as he hits the orange brick wall.

"Bender, please," he starts.

"What. The. FUCK!" Bender hisses, three inches from Brian now. "What the fuck, Brian! What were you thinking! I should beat the shit outta you."

Brian swallows, turning his head away from Bender, before he starts to blink and look back. "You – you mean you're not gonna hit me?"

"Fuck, no, I, ugh." Bender runs a hand through his hair, cursing to himself. "You're lucky Curtis sent me in and not someone else, or even came in himself, because you'd be bleeding on the floor right now if he had."

"I, I understand."

"Really?" Bender shoots him a pointed look. "Really? Because I don't fucking think you do. What was that? Do you _have_ a death wish?"

"No, I just thought-"

"Well don't," Bender snarls, pointing a finger at Brian. "Don't _ever_ pull a stunt like that again, or so help me I'll hit you next time. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"_Good_." Bender runs another hand through his hair. It almost looks like he's shaking. Then again, that might just be Brian.

"Wait a few minutes before leaving, you hear? And don't mention this to anyone, or I'll kill you."

Bender hurries back to the door, only opening it enough for himself to slip through. Brian rushes and locks himself in a stall, breathing heavily. He hears the door creak open for a second before shutting again. He's left alone with the running faucets after that.


	14. Parents Are In Europe

Wednesday morning, March 28, 1984. Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois.

**7:03 AM.** Andrew Clark shuffles into Homeroom behind a group of other students, taking a seat on the far right, about halfway down the row. He stares out the window, watching the still-rising sun. His legs burn from his morning run.

**7:05 AM.** The late bell rings.

**7:07 AM.** Mrs. Knocker takes attendance.

**7:09 AM.** Mrs. Knocker goes back behind her computer. Everyone is left to their own free will now. Andy hates Homeroom. There's never anything to do.

**7:10 AM.** A group of kids noisily jam their desks together and start a game of cards. Everyone starts to talk louder now. Andy huffs and goes back to staring out the window.

**7:12 AM.** The class is hushed by Mrs. Knocker as the morning announcements start on the intercom. The secretary keeps coughing every few minutes. Vernon can be heard faintly shouting in the back. Asshole.

**7:15 AM.** The noise level is back to where it was before the announcements. Andy puts his chin in his palm and drums his fingers against the desk.

**7:18 AM.** As a last resort, Andy fishes his French homework from his bag and slaps it on the desk in front of him. He cracks his fingers and stares down at it.

**7:19 AM.** What the hell does any of this say anyway? It's not like he plans on going to France or anything.

**7:21 AM.** Andy dozes off at his desk.

**7:25 AM.** A hand slaps Andy's shoulder. He jumps in his seat and looks around. It's Stubbie Brown.

Stubbie laughs and points at Andy. Wide-eyed, Andy realizes there's drool pooling down his chin. He uses his sleeve to wipe it away, turning away from Stubbie.

**7:26 AM.** "Relax man," Stubbie laughs as Andy turns back to him. "What's up man? You alright?"

"Yeah, just tired I guess," Andy mumbles, realizing there's a wet stain on his French homework. Awesome.

"Hey, listen, I got something that'll liven you up," Stubbie says with a wink. Andy raises his eyebrows. "My parents are stuck in Europe."

Andy rubs his hands over his face, pulling away and blinking at Stubbie. He frowns. "Still? Hasn't it been like, a week?"

**7:27 AM.** "Yeah, isn't it great? There's some giant storms going on over there, their flights keep getting canceled."

"So why is this good news exactly?"

Stubbie raises his eyebrows. "Seriously? You have to ask?"

They both crack wide grins at each other.

"Party at my house Saturday night. Eight o'clock."

**7:28 AM.** "I'll be there."

"Alright!"

They both crack grins again as Stubbie gets up and crosses the room to the kids playing cards. He leans over one of their shoulders and starts laughing with the guy.

**7:29 AM.** Three rows back, Curtis Malfis grins.

**7:30 AM.** The bell rings. End of Homeroom.


	15. I Like Those Earrings, Claire

Thursday evening, March 29, 1984. The Standish Household, Shermer, Illinois.

Claire dumps her purse on a chair in the kitchen and throws her keys across the table. "I'm home!" she calls.

The house is lit up, music drifting in from another room. Claire follows the sound, but finds no one.

"Mom?" she calls.

"Upstairs!"

Claire takes the winding stairs, humming along with the music. She freezes in the hall when she sees her bedroom door is open and the light is on. Mrs. Standish pops her head around the door frame, smiling. As Claire gets closer, she can smell the alcohol coming off her mother.

"Mom?"

Claire's jewelry box is open on her bed, jewelry scattered everywhere. "I'm looking for those pretty earrings of yours, Claire. Your father and I are going dancing. Whoopsies," Mrs. Standish giggles as she tips over, knocking into the wall.

Claire runs over to help her mother. "Mom, you're drunk."

Mrs. Standish waves a dismissive hand, fixing the wrinkles in her dress. "Nonsense, I've only had a little bit. Honest." She burps, hiding her mouth behind a manicured hand and giggling again. "Now then," she turns to the bed, "where _are_ those earrings?"

Claire frowns. "Which ones, Mom?"

"You know, those expensive little studs your grandmother got you. Oh look, there's one!"

Mrs. Standish leans over the bed, fishing from the pile a small stud Claire hadn't even seen. The same stud she'll never see the matching one of, because it's with-

"Bender," Claire whispers, tugging on one of her ears instinctively.

Her mother looks over at her and frowns deeply. "What was that, Claire?"

"Uh, no, nothing. I, uh-"

"Ladies?"

Claire whirls around to find her father standing in the doorway, fixing his tie.

"Everything alright in here?"

"I'm not sure," Mrs. Standish says. Mr. Standish raises his eyebrows. "Claire, where _is_ the matching stud?"

"It – it should be right there, Mother. Honest."

Claire hurries over to the bed and starts to dig through the pile of jewelry. She can feel sweat gathering on her forehead.

"Why, I don't know where it could have gone to."

"Eleanor?" Mr. Standish says.

Claire looks up. Her mother is holding the stud between her thumb and forefinger as if it's diseased. Her face is a mixture of emotions Claire can't read. Her frown is nearly to the floor. Claire tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Her mother turns and sets the stud on Claire's vanity table, snatching up her clutch and throwing Claire another look.

"Let's go, Randy darling. We're late."

Mrs. Standish storms from the room. Mr. Standish eyes Claire warily.

"Randal!"

"Coming!"

He gives Claire one last look before he hurries off after his wife. Claire drops to the floor, listening to the slamming of the front door and the start of her father's car. She turns and stares at the bottle of Vodka her mother left behind.


	16. Trying Out For A Scholarship

Friday evening, March 30, 1984. The Reynolds Household, Shermer, Illinois.

Allison scratches her head and sets down her pen, staring at the piece of paper covered in doodles. The piece of paper that, mind you, _should _be filled with up to two hundred words on the person that inspires her the most.

Allison pushes away from her desk and sighs, opening her bedroom door and staring into the dark hall. As she makes her way downstairs, music rushes up to meet her.

She finds her mother cleaning the kitchen, humming along with Johnny Cash. She leans against the door frame, watching.

"Mom?"

Mrs. Reynolds jumps. "Shit, Ally." She presses a sponged hand to her heart. "Don't do that to me." She pulls her hand away, revealing a wet stain soaking through her shirt.

"Sorry," Allison mutters.

Her mother sets the cleaning supplies down and lights a cigarette, flicking ashes into the sink. "Need something?"

Allison shrugs, then takes a deep breath. "Actually, yeah." Her mother raises her eyebrows. "I'm working on an essay. It's for a scholarship." She watches as her mother inhales smoke deeply. "I was wondering... who inspired you the most in high school?"

She watches as her mother winces, coughing up smoke. She forgot. She always forgets – her mother never finished high school.

"Well, uh," she flicks more ash off and takes a shaky breath, bringing the cigarette to her mouth then pulling it away again, stamping it out in the sink and tossing it away in the trashcan.

Allison watches the pain cross her mother's face. She knows high school can be a touchy subject with her mother. Even worse, she knows it's painful that Allison isn't writing about _her_ to begin with.

"I just don't want to do someone general, like a mother or father. Everyone qualifying for this scholarship will, and I want to stand out," Allison lies through her teeth.

Her mother nods and picks up the sponge and spray bottle, wiping the same spot on the kitchen island over and over again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

"Mom-"

"Why not the president, hm? I'm sure a bunch of art losers won't write about the president inspiring them."

Allison flinches, stepping back away from the kitchen a little.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess."

"Listen, I'm really busy, Allison, okay?" her mother snaps, looking up. "I can't have you interrupting me. Go write your damn essay. Your father's coming home late, he's bringing dinner with him because there's no damn food in this house, okay? Okay?!"

"O-okay," Allison whispers and turns, dashing up the stairs.


	17. Big Party At Stubbie's

Saturday night, March 31, 1984. Stubbie's House, Shermer, Illinois.

Bender brings a burned down cigarette to his lips and takes a small puff, throwing it to the pavement and stomping it out. Stacey leans on his left shoulder, grinning. Curtis, Craig, and Johnny are all to his right. They stare up at the large, white house.

Cars are parked haphazardly up and down the street and all over the front lawn and driveway. Bright lights and loud music burst from the house. Drunk kids are stumbling everywhere. Trash liters the yard and surrounding shrubs.

The party has only been going on for an hour.

"I think we're a little late," Craig says with a grin as Johnny pops the collar to his leather jacket. The two head off toward the house.

"Remember boys!" Curtis calls out, following after them. "It's only illegal if you get caught!"

Bender shakes his head with a grin, he and Stacey making their way toward the yard.

The house is packed with richies and jocks, nerds and burnouts alike. Craig, Curtis, and Johnny are already lost in the crowd. Bender kisses Stacey's cheek and heads off, pushing through the drunk, dancing morons.

He checks around and finally finds what he's looking for. The hall he's standing in isn't so crowded, the music just a thumping bass over here. He hears moans floating through one of the walls. Checking left and right, Bender pushes the halfway open door fully in, switching on the light and grinning.

Coats line the racks up and down, begging to be searched. Officially naming himself coat check attendant, Bender slams the door and rubs his gloved hands together, going for the first bulging wallet he sees.


	18. Dork

Brian isn't sure what he's doing here.

Here, as in, sitting on one of the many carpeted staircases leading to the second floor of Stubbie's house. The place is huge. The layout reminds Brian of one of his sister's dollhouses.

Couples pass by him on their way to the bedrooms. He has a plastic cup full of beer he pretends to drink whenever someone spots him.

A brunette being led by a buff football player stares down at Brian as they pass.

"Didn't you read the sign?" she snaps. "No nerds allowed!"

Brian nods his head, using the wall to stand. "Right, sure. I will definitely go look at that. Thanks."

He shoves his free hand in his pocket and makes his way downstairs. The place is pulsing. Brian checks his watch. 9:15. He and his friend Liam made a bet on when they think the cops will show up. Liam said 10:30. Brian said 11.

Brian notices kids pushing into the backyard, spilling drinks everywhere. He shoves through a group of kids standing in the entrance to the kitchen and heads through the large double doors.

Outside is a mess. Someone threw toilet paper into the trees lining the back of the property. Trash is lying everywhere, and not just the kind you throw out, either; kids have passed out on the grass near the fence. Brian watches as someone hooks the hose into the sprinkler, setting it off near them. A few wake up screaming.

The pool is packed with kids swimming and splashing around, some lying out on pool floaties. Brian notices Stubbie and two other guys emptying bottles of dish soap into the water, mixing it with their arms.

Brian turns around to go back inside when he finds himself face-to-face with Curtis Malfis.

"Brian, my pal!" Curtis claps him on the shoulder. "I didn't know you were here!"

Brian feels his cheeks redden. "Uh, yeah. I just stopped by. Listen, Curtis, about what happened at lunch the other day-"

"Oh, don't mention it, buddy! What'cha drinking? Need a refill?"

"Uh, no. No, that's okay. Really. I – oh!" Brian glances at his watch and smacks his forehead. "Well, look at the time! I didn't realize it was so late!"

Brian steps to the left. Curtis steps in front of him, arms crossed. "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, yeah. I have to go, ya know, study." He swallows the lump in his throat. "For my, uh, Physics test on Monday!"

Brian steps to the right. Curtis, again, steps in front of him. "You calling me stupid?"

Brian frowns. "What? N-no. Of course not!"

"You sure? Because it sounds like you're calling me stupid. Sorry we can't all be nerds and take smart classes like you, Brian."

Curtis starts forward. Brian takes a few steps back, throwing his hands up.

"Woah, woah. Curtis, man, listen, I know you're not stupid."

Curtis grins. Brian looks down. He's at the edge of the pool now. A crowd watches. Shit.

"No, but you sure are."

Curtis throws his arms straight forward and shoves Brian into the pool. His cup of beer goes flying. Soapy water fills his mouth and nose, burning his eyes. He resurfaces, splashing around, coughing. His blonde hair hangs down in his eyes, covering his vision. He hears loud laughter.

Somewhere next to him, someone shouts, "Dork!"


End file.
